


Lost

by EmperorMinhyun



Series: Stay Together, and We’ll Find Home [2]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Backstory, Child Abuse, Fantasy AU, Gen, Minor Angst, Sad Backstory, chan is referred to as the boy because he has yet to receive a name, faerie!chan, this is a mess i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 15:02:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20490809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmperorMinhyun/pseuds/EmperorMinhyun
Summary: "He was lost, but he was determined to find himself. "Or, the backstory of Chan in my ficBroken Wings and Healed Hearts





	Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Hello from Thailand friends. Sorry for uploading this so late (and there being no ships) but I got busy moving (both in my home country and when I moved to Thailand). I hope you enjoy this. I am thinking about doing a multi chapter fic for how Chan met the rest of the boys and a fluffy fic about Felix's life with the boys. Let me know which one you want first!

The tinkling of the river filled the air, bringing a smile to a small boy that stood hidden, watching the river banks. The sound reminded him of his mother’s laugh. While his mother’s laugh was by far more enchanting than the river, the bubbling sound of the water reminded him of the refreshing feeling that washed over him every time he heard his mother laugh, the few times it had happened.

He wished he laughed like his mom. She told him it was pretty, but he knew that it just wasn’t the same. His mother’s voice sounded like magic, while his voice only sounded pretty.

With wide eyes, he watched the water, watching as a deer drank. He wished his eyes were like his mom’s. They were such a pretty green, like the forest in spring. His eyes weren’t pretty. His mother told them they were disturbing, that they were hard to look at.

He didn’t blame her for saying that though. He hated looking at his eyes. His green eye looking dark and murky compared to his mother’s, and his black eye just a void of nothing. They were unsettling. His mother told him that they were unnatural. When compared to his mother’s pretty green eyes, he had to agree. They were unsettling, and unnatural, and disturbing.

There were a lot of things about him that he wished was like his mother. He wished he had the creamy white swirls that dotted her face, and not the harsh black lines that filled his. He wished he had her pretty red hair, and not the nearly icy green that covered his head in a curly mess. He wished he just had pretty hair like his mother, and not the ugly little horns he could feel growing on top of his head. He wished his wings were all pretty like his mother’s, and not the ugly things that were too large attached to his back.

He wished his mother liked him more.

With a sigh, the small boy turned from the deer, turned from the stream that reminded him of his happier memories. He had snuck out, and he knew he had to get back soon. His mother was always really mad when he left for too long. She was afraid his father was going to find him and take him to the fae realm. She was afraid someone would find him and shame her for having a half breed son, afraid of becoming the laughingstock of the courts.

He made his way quickly back to the cottage he stayed in with his mother, chubby legs taking him as quick as they could through the forest, his wings still too week to support him despite their already large size.

Soon, the boy found himself standing in front of the cottage. With sad eyes, he sent one last longing glance towards the forest and its freedoms before he turned around and entered through the door. On careful feet, he made his way to where they kept the broom and other cleaning supplies, already dreading the mandatory cleaning his mother required of him before she would return from her excursions.

Someday he hoped he would be free, just like the animals in the forest.

* * *

His mother returned two suns after he had cleaned the house, after he had been rebellious enough to brave the forest despite his mother telling him he could never leave the cottage. Her threats didn’t really scare him anymore though. He had long since figured out his mother took at least seven suns to return from the fae realm whenever she left, so as long as he never left the house past that seventh sun he would be safe.

His mother greeted him with a slap to the face as soon as she entered the room, her claws raking across his cheeks and the budding black swirls that lined his face, the welts drawing thin lines of beading green blood. The boy ducked his head, knowing that looking at her would make her anger worse. He near flinched when a clawed hand grabbed his face, forcing him to look up into the seething face of his mother as she let out a hiss when she saw the blood.

Sometimes he wished he had the thicker skin of the winter fae, or better yet, he wished he _was_ a winter fae like his appearance suggested he was. Sadly though, he was cursed with subtle reminders that he was in fact a hybrid—that he was a shameful disgrace of a bastard. He was cursed with a smaller build, and two different colored eyes marking his ancestry, and the green blood of the summer fae rather than the deep blue of the winter fae.

He was cursed to always remind his mother of her shame, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Eventually he felt his mother’s hand drop and heard her soft footsteps echo through the room as she walked towards the only bedroom in the cottage. Carefully, the boy magicked his feet to silence his steps—one of the few spells he knew how to do—and made his way towards the basin of water and rage he had left in the kitchen, knowing something like this would have happen.

A soft hiss left his lips as he cleaned the blood off of his cheek. He was lucky that none of the scratched were deep—he really didn’t want to go out to the well and draw more water and sanitize it, and that is exactly what he would have had to do if he would have had to dunk his rag in a second time. His mother always required a fresh basin of water in the house, and he was glad that he didn’t have to dirty the one he had already drawn with his tainted blood.

On his still magicked feet, the boy made his way back into the main room of the cottage. He carefully curled up in a corner of the room, making sure to stay away from any areas his mother might walk to in the room when she woke up. He had learned the hard way when he was younger that it was best to just stay out of his mother’s way, especially when he slept and was useless to her.

* * *

The boy broke his own rule one day. He had spent the night in the forest and had woken up in the hollow of a tree on the eighth sun since his mother had last left for the fae realm.

A soft gurgle filled the hollow as the boy curled in on himself, clutching his stomach in pain. It had been a while since he had eaten. Normally he could last without food for however long his mother was gone, but she had not fed him the week before she left, and he was not allowed to eat without her in the cottage.

With weak arms, the boy pulled himself out of the tree hollow. He grimaced in pain as he stood up, his wings sore after being crammed into the small space all night long. Slowly he stretched his large wings out—so different from his mother’s beautiful wings—wincing slightly at the ache he could feel at the joints where his wings met his back.

The boy slowly drug himself forward, moving in the direction of the cottage he lived in with his mother. He clutched his stomach, for once hoping his mother would come home just so he could fend off the acid eating away at his stomach.

* * *

His mother returned two days later. She seemed to be in a good mood—well, as good of a mood as his mother could be in around him—but he still stayed at a distance so as not to irritate her. Within three days his mother was gone again, back to the realm of the fae, leaving her son to fend for himself.

The boy still had yet to eat.

* * *

He broke the rule again a day after his mother left. The forest feeling more like a home to him then the cottage. While it was colder than the cottage, at least he was free and could escape the grasp of his mother’s (literal and figurative) claws.

He fell asleep that night in the same tree hollow he had before, a smile tugging at his lips.

The next day he broke another rule—he ate without his mother’s permission.

He hadn’t meant to, but as he was walking through the forest a rabbit had ran in front of him. Without thinking he had grabbed the small animal, its neck breaking almost instantaneously in his grasp. He spent that night crying, blood staining his lips and his fingers and his very being as he ate the poor rabbit.

The next day he went to the nearby creek, scrubbing the blood off of him. He could never scrub hard enough though.

* * *

The next his mother visited (nearly a full moon cycle from the last time she had returned) would be the last time she ever returned to the middle realm. He had not known that then though.

She had come home, a harsh look on her face. The boy knew instantly that his mother was in a bad mood. He stepped to the side, his back straight, his wings pressed as tightly as they could against his back, knowing that the unsightly appendages would further agitate his mother.

He fell asleep that night, silently sobbing in his corner. His face was bloody again, but this time rather than the regret of taking another life staining his face, it was his mother’s anger, his mother’s pain.

She left the next morning, not a word spoken to him. He spent the day inside the cottage, afraid his mother was going to come back, afraid that more bloody claw marks would tear his skin. He spent the rest of the week inside the cottage as well, too scared to leave.

It was when hunger started to gnaw at his bely again that he dared to venture out of the cottage. He stooped over a bush of berries just past the border of the forest and the clearing the cottage was in, hoping they were edible. He ate as many as could, but the sticky sweet juice left him feeling sick more than anything else.

He would rather be sick and starving rather than take a life yet again. Or so he thought.

One moon cycle turned into two, turned into three, and eventually turned into twelve. After the first moon cycle he could no longer survive on just berries. He would hold off as long as he could, but he always had to stain his hands again.

He eventually realized his mother would never return. The most she had ever been gone was a full moon cycle, but with nearly twelve passing without a trace of her he knew he had been left to rot.

He left the cottage after this, realizing there was nothing left to tie him to it. Determination sat in his gaze, however fear loomed in his heart. He had no idea what life was like outside of the cottage, and there was the niggling feeling that his mother was going to return and track him down, even though he knew that she wouldn’t.

He was lost, but he was determined to find himself.


End file.
